No, No, No, No, No.

You're wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

The argument had degenerated.

While there had been no name-calling to this point, there was every indication that things might easily move in that direction. A few minutes prior to this lapse into barbarity, my friend and I had been engaged in a nice, orderly debate marred only by the fact that he was as mistaken as it is humanly possible to be without actually standing on an electric stove while holding a wet cougar.

I will describe the discussion for your edification. Sure, I'll attempt to be fair, but if, in doing so, I give him and his anemic views somewhat short shrift, you will, I'm sure, understand. It is, after all, extremely difficult to render his reason-deficient maunderings into a presentable form without straying into purest fantasy. And if, by some freakish chance, you agree with my opponent suffice it say that you will reap what you have sown.

The topic was driving in Toronto; more specifically, what to do when approaching a traffic light which had just turned yellow. His philosophy, and I use that term in the absolute broadest of possible senses, was - "Press on with all haste and devil take the hindmost." There. Isn't that pathetic, not to mention dangerous, rude and anti-social?

My position was and is that not only does such vehicular solipsism show a blatant disregard for the rules of the road - rules set down by our wise and beneficent fore-travelers - but, contrary to what my friend and all the other amber-defying louts think, it doesn't speed things along. It slows traffic to a groaning, cursing crawl. I will expound.

First - gridlock - the worst of all possible traffic worlds - almost invariably occurs when someone in need of a warm blanket and reassuring words tries to push on through a yellow to join the herd on the other side of the line and finds himself in no-man's land when the light changes - as he stinking well should have know it would. Result - nobody moves.

Second - left-turners are robbed of the measured yellow and find themselves thrown on the razor-thin mercies of the three-quarters-obverse drivers as they risk the momentary double red. And let's just picture for a moment that revved up, snarling phalanx of drivers who are aching for anything vaguely greenish, to realize how momentary that double red in fact is. Result - fewer cars make it through the intersection and traffic backs up choking the life and movement out of our once proud metropolis.

Finally - Pedestrians, no more patient than their wheeled fellow commuters, also cross on the green light. The fact that they also cross on the red and yellow is of no consequence. Hell. Some would cross on the plaid if there were one. Anyway, with cars barreling through the amber as if they were part of a latter day Light Brigade and pedestrians clogging the crosswalk at the first hint of green, right-turners might as well put a for sale sign in the window and take the next available bus.

So with left turners limited to a few seconds of red and right turners gathering moss, how does anything move? The short and none-too sweet answer is - it doesn't. Traffic in the downtown is an absolute punishment from rosy dawn to well past suppertime. The cows are home and well into their second martini before most suburbanites wheeze up their driveways.

These incontrovertible realities were lost on my companion. Did I mention that we were crawling through a typical noon hour crush when the issue arose? "Mr. Politeness," my friend scoffed as I attempted to explain why I chose to abide by and the rules of the road and let the oncoming lefty make his turn. Well perhaps there was a bit of name-calling after all.

It didn't used to be like this. Once, the way was broad and the road ahead was straight as a die. Children laughed and dogs ran free. Our faces were bathed in a dappled, golden light. And we turned left on that light. Traffic moved without menace or mayhem and Toronto was 'the good'.

Then, around the time a certain Prime Minister gathered the reins of power into his trembling hoof, the mood darkened. The race for the almighty buck grew hotter and more frenzied. Power lunches - power drinks - power suits. Cell phones and sport-utes. And time... never enough time. We, in our panic to keep up to the crowd, didn't even begin to consider the consequences and from Bay Street to your street we floored it like lemmings on methadrine. And so came the end of what I call the 'Amber Light Convention'.

Can it be revived? Can we legislate civility if only in the interests of improving the free flow of traffic? And if so, can we then enforce it? I know there was little enough effort and public support to stop red light runners - the Mayor et al seemed more interested in trying to convince themselves and anybody who would listen that Toronto was a world-class city. But this, I feel, is somehow more important, more essential to our future as a place where people actually want to live. And if, somehow, we could manage to turn back the 'blood-dimmed tide', who knows to what broad uplands it might lead. We could be a beacon - an amber beacon - for all who toil in shadow.

"Nonsense," said my friend, "this is the way it is and you'd might as well learn to live with it." By the way, did I mention that my friend was from Montreal?

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